


Lone Wolf and Adaar

by VulpusTumultum



Series: Lone Wolf and Adaar [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Dragon Age Inquisition AU, Friendship, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV shifts, Rough Sex, Scarification, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Timeline Shenanigans, dealing with new emotions, learning to love, look suddenly i just had to DO THE THING, multi-chapter, noncanon abilities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpusTumultum/pseuds/VulpusTumultum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has, since Kirkwall, been a lone wolf again, still unsure of what exactly he wants to do with his freedom, and raw from his feelings for F!Hawke. But his long, empty days of hunting down slavers has led him southwards without even really paying attention, and runs him right into the Inquisition that he's been almost entirely ignoring up to that point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno, one minute I was trying to sleep, the next minute I had a burning desire for Fenris/Adaar, so here it starts.
> 
> The warping of canon also will extend to the Inquisitor's class abilities as I mash in some OC ideas I'd been pondering, and I may be fudging the timeline a bit as well- while first chapter is in Western Approach, it's taking place before the Crestwood meeting with Hawke and her Grey Warden contact.

He hadn't entirely meant to wind up so far south and into the western approach- but that's where the Blind Men and these Tevinters calling themselves Venatori had led him, as he- and a few others with axes to grind against such types, had trailed after and killed them for, basically, fun and profit.

The alliances with the other hunter/scavengers weren't really friendships, but Fenris just hadn't brought himself to go with Hawke and Isabela- he'd lusted after Hawke at the very least, perhaps even loved her, but he'd been a fool, frightened by the results of their one night together and in the years after, while Hawke never hated him for walking out of her bedroom that night and not returning to it, her friendship with the captain had become painfully intimate for the grim elf to be around.

Perhaps they would have welcomed him, but that was just another thought, another concept he had shied away from- unlike that damnable, charming Antivan that had left the two women chuckling in a way that made his ears burn for weeks after.

He'd also refused the invitations to become something of a business partner (as muscle at least) with Varric, help Aveline and her husband rebuild, and to go to Starkhaven with Sebastian- after everything that had happened, he just needed time alone again. Anders was dead, but he'd seen enough that even though he still disliked mages, he'd had to admit at least to himself that the Circle, even without red lyrium, could invite abuses that he wouldn't wish on them. Another thing leaving him feeling split in two and thus irritable.

Best to take it out on those he hadn't grown fond of or at least accustomed to.

At first, it had been soothing, comforting, to go back to feeling alone, and even to just focus on being a hunter, but now-

Now he was finding himself wondering if any of those landbound invitations were still open- perhaps after he finished off this latest group of the Tevinter fanatics, (and they were a pleasure to kill, when he'd realized they wanted to rebuild the _old_ empire) he would ask around. He'd heard about the breech, and seen a handful of rifts, spitting out demons, but had learned to go around those, since however many demons you killed, more would inevitably appear.

The Inquisition didn't interest him, based on the rumors he'd heard- though really, he heard so few rumors. He was, after all, a busy man, and hadn't really stopped into even a village inn for a while, his hunt having been obsessive enough to override his desires for civilized amenities. It did have going for it that the Venatori were against it, so at the least, if he encountered anyone belonging to it, he might attempt civility.

That thought was rather sorely tried when a group of them came across him in the Western approach- he'd found a group of slaving wagons- empty and abandoned in a box canyon, when he'd caught the soft sound of others behind him- and when he'd turned, hand going back to the hilt of his blade- the first thing he'd seen was two Qunari- the second thing he'd seen was a human mage who looked Tevinter.

He had to assume the Qunari were actually Tal Vashoth, then- and was also thus assuming the mage was perhaps part of the Venatori slaving ring he'd been hunting. He'd started to draw his blade, which meant the two Qunari reciprocated- but then there was a voice that surprised him so much he froze rather than charging.

“Well call me a nug's uncle! Fenris, what in the Maker's name are you doing in this hell hole, although I can probably guess.”

A familiar bright red shirt that he'd overlooked when focusing on the mage and looming fighters, and in it, a grinning Varric Tethras, Bianca casually in his hand, but aimed downwards. Noticing the tall elf's accusingly hard glare towards the mage in particular, the rogue went on, “Relax, big guy, this one's not so bad, and he also owes me three sovereigns that I'd really like to collect.”

One of the Qunari- the slightly shorter and less bulky one, who was wearing actual leather armor rather than a harness, moved a bit more into the lead, but moved hands away from his paired daggers- by a fraction at least, to show a willingness for peaceful interaction. “Friend of yours, Varric?”

“Herald, this is Fenris, Fenris, seriously, let go of the sword and just meet the Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor Adaar in at least a vaguely friendly-ish manner.”

Still glaring mostly at the mage- Fenris did let go of his sword and lowered his hands- which meant the bigger Qunari let go of his axe.

“Varric, you are tied in with the Inquisition? Isn't it a bit religious for your tastes?” for the moment, he rather rudely ignored the others, though none of them seemed bothered by this in the slightest, not even the 'Herald'- and _that_ was a bit of a shock to Fenris. He'd basically known the Inquisition was some sort of heretical Chantry/Templar/Circle splinter group. He hadn't heard that it was so heretical it had a Tal Vashoth leading it. A Tal Vashoth that was, when he did take another, closer look, also far more flamboyant than one tended to think of mysterious religious figures- or Qunari for that matter. His back-curving horns had been polished and even carved with geometric designs, the tips capped with tooled copper, and his ears were pierced- rows of alternating semi-precious studs and gold hoops too small to easily grab in a fight lining along them. His skin was a dusky sort of bronze, and a scar lightly split his dark lower lip, and then dragged more deeply along his chin

His eyes were a rather disturbingly intense green under dark brows- the same color as those open rifts as he clearly studied Fenris in return, inevitably paying close attention to the marks of lyrium along his body.

Fenris nodded cautiously to him, and got a return nod of greeting- but one with a quick, toothy smile added to it. One of the Inquisitor's canines flashed with a bit of golden fill- despite being the wrong species, and wrong gender, he reminded the elf of Isabela with all that jewelry, and that brought on yet another irritating twinge of regret.

“Religiousness isn't exactly a requirement for the Inquisition, surprisingly enough. Mostly you have to be willing to go around killing demons, red lyrium mages, and Venatori in order to stop the world from ending. Sebastian would absolutely _despair_ trying to talk to our very agnostic Herald, for example.”

The Inquisitor slunk past Fenris to look at the carts, letting Varric do the talking- he'd lost the amused look- well, most of it- suddenly seeming all business. And for someone who towered a bit over Fenris, he was silent on his feet.

“And your other friends, then?”

“The Iron Bull, mercenary captain and either best or worst Qunari spy I've ever met, and Dorian, who is not a magister, hates Venatori, and doesn't generally do anything more evil than try to cheat at board games.”

“ _Board games?_ ”

“Hey that's what chess is, Sparkler, and you haven't tried cheating at Wicked Grace yet.”

“Merely too preoccupied with the hope that our Knight Commander loses bits of armor again, or that our Inquisitor loses them for a first time.”

Fenris felt a surge of... envy? Loneliness, certainly, at the dwarf's easy manner and obvious friendship with this new group- the banter was.. much like the more pleasant moments in Kirkwall. The way he'd been spending his time, pretending to be a cold hunter and lone wolf seemed suddenly much less satisfying.

Though.. a Tevinter mage- the only way they were trustworthy was to kill them, and then set someone to guard the corpse. He'd noticed Varric didn't give the man a surname, but that he was clearly from a highly placed family-

“No signs of struggle- but they've been sitting here for weeks. They're not the ones our scouts heard about.”

The interruption was well timed, before Fenris' thoughts could work themselves up completely, and the Inquisitor was heading back to his allies, though he glanced at the elf again and paused, flashing him an easy smile. “If you'd like more time to catch up with Tethras, feel free to come along- or stop by the camp to the north. Found a place to set up by an oasis where there's some shelter from the wind- might even be able to eat a meal that isn't half sand.”

For the first time, Fenris noticed the Tal Vashoth's hands and wrists- ink and scar tissue echoing the geometrics on his horns, vanishing into the sleeves of his armor- but also some vaguely familiar symbols that seemed more runic. Except on the right- the designs were broken by faintly glowing green lines that traced along skin like veins. Again the color of the rifts. The pulse was... much like his own brands when they flared to life. Noticing what had caught Fenris' attention, he chuckled.

“It gets restless if there's rifts nearby.”

“Heh, tag along for the day at least, elf, his party trick is worth seeing.”

Fenris considered the invitations- his first impulse being to refuse them shortly- not just due to the type of company he'd be in aside from Varric, but just out of sheer habit. But then he chided himself- hadn't he been thinking about his old comrades, and been wanting company only a bit before they'd appeared?

If nothing else, maybe it would remind him of why he liked being alone so much.

“Very well, I admit to being intrigued,” and he moved to follow them back out of the canyon and onto the dust-blown trail. "Besides, you still owe  _me_   several sovereigns from that last game of Diamondback."


	2. Out of the Loop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris really, _really_ has been on his own too long, and is behind on just about every bit of news.
> 
> Adaar is quite happy to fill him in, though.

Finding the mine, now abandoned except for corpses and the spiders and hyenas feeding on them, had been a grim task- and also the first time Fenris had encountered the red lyrium since they'd dealt with Meredith. He'd felt it, along his own brands, before they'd even entered the tunnels, and he noticed the mage grit his teeth, and Varric twitch in agitation as they picked and ocassionally fought their way through the sad remains of the slaves.

There wasn't any cheerful banter- especially when they reached the main cavern. To the elf, the amount of red lyrium there was staggering- so much LESS had driven both Varric's brother, and the Knight Commander Meredith to madness.

He rather thought he felt the stuff scream, when the Iron Bull took an axe to the largest formed crystal, shattering it.

“Why is this on the surface? _How_ is this on the surface?”

Varric scowled, “We're still trying to figure that out- other than the hints so far are that the stuff can be grown out of people or corpses.”

They all eyed the bodies, and with a sigh, the Inquisitor started to carefully drag them into a pile- Bull and Varric- and then Fenris, joining in, while the mage glared his way through papers they'd found, reading the Tevinter script silently. He angrily bundled them up when he was done with them, stuffing them into a pack.

“The usual pleasant reading, I take it,” Adaar noted, glancing to Dorian.

“The Venatori are nothing if not predictably foul. But sadly, though they mention moving their planned source for this filth, they do not say _where_. The good news is, they may still have some groups in the area- one letter mentioned setting up more of those occuli.”

“That's _good_ news? Those things were bad enough before you found out how they were made,” the Inquistor jerked his head towards the mine exit, and they all started moving that way.

“Of course, dear Inquisitor, because it means we get to kill them all,” behind them, the pile of corpses burst into flame by the mage's command, and they hurried out before the smoke got too bad. Fenris found himself less bothered by Dorian- at least for the moment- because of that sentiment, and started to wish he'd heard more about what exactly was going on.

The rift hummed angrily in the air ahead, demons skittering around beneath it. To get this far, they'd had to kill some quillbacks, and then some bandits, and Fenris got a feel for his temporary companions. Varric he'd known was a master with Bianca, and the others were also an improvement over the others he had ocassionally fought beside rather than against of late.

He hadn't argued when they had started towards the tear in the veil- although he knew no permanent way to close them, it was clear that the others found them just another typical part of their job. This didn't mean they were reckless, and Inquisitor Adaar looked to Fenris, “Bull usually keeps most of their attention, but feel free to keep a couple yourself- if a really big wave of them come out, or a pride demon, I pin them down with my second party trick. Any ranged ones usually get handled by Dorian and Varric.”

“And if there is a pride demon after a large wave?” Fenris wasn't used to someone actually mentioning even basic tactics anymore- but it was... good to know this group had their system- and it was pretty much the same as had been with Hawke and any companions.

The Tal-Vashoth Inquisitor grinned, “Then it might be a longer fight.”

It wasn't a 'longer fight'- but certainly still more challenging than a handful of beasts or bandits. Fenris had already been impressed with the Herald's fighting- but it was a bit of a surprise, almost enough to cause a dangerous distraction when in this fight, the man Fenris had thought was purely a blade fighter used what seemed to be magic.

His blades alternately burned with fire or radiated frost- depending on what he was currently attacking, and not just the blades, but when a rage demon went for him instead of either of the two warriors, it hit cold radiating off his body itself, an icy armor that lasted for only a dozen heartbeats, but that was enough to slow the monster and shield the Inquisitor so he could rip into it in retalliation

The fog warriors had had similar tricks, but they'd required alchemy- and as far as Fenris could tell in the heat of battle, Inquisitor Adaar didn't use outside aid.

And then, there was the party trick at the end- the demons gone, the tear having shrunk to a pulsing ball- though if left alone it would open again- and the Herald had reached out with his right hand, and the green glow of the anchor flared and sealed it in a rush of light and ozone smell.

It made the lyrium in his skin hum unsettlingly- though not painfully- leaving Fenris short of breath, muscles wanting to twitch, though no else one seemed to notice.

“Told you it was worth seeing,” said Varric.

 

**********

 

Fenris found himself keeping pace with the Herald, while Varric sometimes scouted ahead and towards the back the human mage and the Qunari were sniping at each other. The elf wasn't sure how a Qunari, a noble Tevinter Mage, and a Tal-Vashoth were walking together as anything other than a set up to some joke of Varric's, and yet it was happening.

“You are a mage?” his tone was accusing, as if he'd somehow been betrayed.

The Tal-Vashoth smiled a bit rather than seeming offended or nettled by the elf's tone. “Not much of one. Better with blades.”

“A minor one doesn't close tears in the veil, from what I understand,” and that earned him a blank look, then a chuckle.

“You've really been avoiding talking to people, haven't you? The mark on my hand closes the rifts- and does one or two other things, and it has nothing to do with me,” _that_ was said with an element of bitterness lurking to the words, “Accidental gift from our enemy, or so he ranted when I last saw him. I've just learned how to control it, with help from a few mages far better at that sort of thing myself. It seems to be the only way to close the type of rift that's been opening, too, so it's a shame it isn't something others can learn or develop. It's part of why people think I'm Andraste's Herald- they want to believe it's from her, rather than the same monster that ripped open the veil in the first place, and at this point there's no sense in arguing with those rumors.”

“But you still are an apostate.”

“You're right, I never was in a Circle. I'm guessing you've had a lot of problems with mages.”

Fenris grit his teeth slightly- if the man was another Anders- “Yes.”

But he snap at the warrior insultingly, or complain about Circles, instead, his words brought Fenris up short. “If being shielded is upsetting to you, just lsay so. Won't get cast on allies if they hate it- unless it's either that or they are likely to actually die. Or if it's too big a battle to keep track of who said 'no'.”

Dorian rolled his eyes a bit, from where he was arguing with Bull about the best bars in Minrathous, but kept to his own conversation.

“What?”the warrior stared at the rogue/mage, feeling like the conversation had take a sharp turn somewhere.

“We've got former Templars and the like running around with us- and of course even common recruits who just about piss themselves if mages get close- especially since Corypheus got his hands on so many of the Circle survivors and sent them against us at Haven. It'd be more polite maybe to not even have the 'unless you're about to die' clause, but I'm not into actual suicide squads.”

“Mages-” Fenris felt yet another sharp jerk to his thoughts as he realized what had been said. “Did- you say Corypheus?”

“Yeah- you were there with Varric and the Champion of Kirkwall? Or just heard about it?”

“...I was there. We killed him- _it_.” Fenris glared to the dwarf, who had a sour look, but shrugged.

“I haven't been able to send you many letters, elf, since you don't go to any cities where I have contacts reliably. And we didn't find out until pretty recently, when he rode in on an archdemon and destroyed Haven. It's Corypheus, and he's convinced he's one of the legendary Magisters and is going to rebuild the Imperium to what it used to be. He tore a damn hole in the sky, which the Herald here patched up with Templar help, but is still plotting with his army of mages and demons. I had to call on Hawke, hoping she can get some information from Carver or something. Still waiting on that though.”

Fenris felt the knot at the mention of Hawke- but there was distraction enough from it. “And the mages joined such a thing?”

“Some did willingly, sure. The majority... were tricked and forced, though,” the Tevinter mage walking along with them shot the Herald a sour look, and the Tal-Vashoth sighed. “I wound up having two different traps to walk into, and not enough chance or warning to handle both. I went after the Templars first, and he enslaved the mages with red lyrium. If I'd gone after them first... we'd have had almost the full order of Templars on that crap, probably led by an envy demon at the gates. Bastard had us coming and going, and we didn't even realize to what extent, all we knew for sure at the time was we needed help to close a tear in the veil that was growing every day, and we could only hope that we could get to the other faction in time afterwards.”

Fenris- part of him- wanted to argue about the idea of mages being victims- but he _had_ been out of touch, and somehow, talking to the Inquisitor, he found himself wanting more details, and asking for them, rather than arguing, or even remembering that he'd also wanted to point out that there wasn't any need to talk about whether or not he was fine with defensive spells being cast on him- because he'd be parting ways by morning...he had no interest in joining someone else's religious crusade

**********

 

Inquisitor Adaar, meanwhile, was enjoying meeting a legend. Well, not a legend, but someone who'd featured in more than a few of Varric's “No shit, there we were...” stories. The elf was about as broody as the dwarf had made him out to be. And a lot more attractive- though to be fair, Varric's taste definitely ran in different directions than Sethras'. Shorter, for one. Only named Bianca, for another.

The lyrium brands in his skin must have hurt like  _hell_ but they were nice to look at, and the first time he'd ever seen something even a little similar to what he'd worked out with that half-crazy dwarven runecrafter that had run around with the company.

The Inquisitor suspected the lyrium thing hadn't been Fenris' own idea though, which soured the admiration for a bit. As far as Sethras was concerned, if you weren't willing to do it/have it done to yourself, then you shouldn't do it to anyone else.

He'd been more than half-crazy to even come up with the idea- but it was just an.. extension of Vitaar mixes, theoretically..

_Very_ theoretically. Both Dorian and Solas, having taken a look at what he'd done, had called him utterly insane- and Dorian had only seen his arms. Solas had seen more, and he'd given them a vague answer as to why he'd even started, much less continued, and at least both of them had dropped it for a while. He suspected if they were a little less busy at some point, both would come after him again for answers- they were too fond of theory not to.

(The fearless Herald of Andraste would rather kiss a wyvern than let Vivienne corner him about the carvings; he suspected she considered him a blood mage- they both avoided each other very politely, and so far he wasn't worried she'd move against him, because she still felt she needed the Inquisition, and he still was earning his pay, as far as most in the movement seemed concerned.)

He'd nearly killed himself a few times, but had gotten his edge- and had sworn off doing more carving or inking- at least, functional carving or inking, and then less than a year and a half after that decision, he'd been a bodyguard at Conclave, and woke up because a Seeker was shouting at him, with a big blank spot in his memory, and the glowing anchor in his hand. That it somehow hadn't interfered with anything it seemed to overwrite was a bit of luck, not that he'd mentioned it- he might have otherwise lost the arm before being able to close a rift down, much less the breach.

Sethras stole another glance at Fenris, as the elf fell silent for a while, either done with questions, or pausing to think of more, wondering if he should try and find a way to hook him into the Inquisition for more than a meal and a place to sleep for one night (and a single day of killing things- he did note that Fenris was even more bloodthirsty about Venatori than Dorian). But the warrior seemed like the kind who resisted obvious attempts to encourage him into anything strenuously out of sheer habit.

He'd be good to have in the Inquisition, especially if he could adjust his views on mages just a little- he was a hell of a fighter, had a generous helping of pragmatism, and certainly had a strong survival instinct. He wasn't a glory hound either, and could work as part of a team clearly even when he didn't necessarily like everyone on it. Probably a slightly different story if he actively hated someone.

Sethras found himself noticing the way the pale lines ran over Fenris' dark skin again, and tried hard not to seem like he was staring. That sort of thing was likely to be high on the list of "things that would make the elf leave".


	3. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A too-comfortable to be comfortable evening at camp nearly drives Fenris away again- until he has an unexpected encounter with Inquisitor Adaar, and the Tal-Vashoth shares his own scars, rather than asking the elf about his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter mentions self harm, thoughts of self harm/suicide, and implies torture/abuses in the after-camp part of the scene.

Fenris wasn't entirely sure why he was still around- other than an actual full camp, set up by other people, with guards always out, and other people also thus making hot food was a serious perk to being with a group. If he hadn't needed to feel so driven by his hunt, he would never have stayed out in the wilderness for as long as he had. He'd gotten only brief curious looks, rather than stares, from the dwarf who seemed to lead scouting forays and her people, and a polite welcome. The handful of others who seemed to be there in case either the Inquisitor or the scouts needed a little more aid were a mix, too.

The Lady Seeker was a little too clearly interested in questioning him about Kirkwall, but also was polite enough to stop asking after a flat refusal, even if she had the air of a hungry predator that had just had a meaty bone pulled away from her. Varric had chuckled, “I'd say she's like that with everyone, but apparently you're special, my broody friend. She usually-.”

“ _Varric_ .”

“Shutting up now, Seeker,” he'd agreed, but continued to chuckle.

And the others- barely any reaction to the sudden appearance of some acquaintance of Varric's just happening to turn up and be invited to the camp. He kept waiting for the gratingly personal questions, and they never came, not even during the quick evening game of Wicked Grace that the dwarf managed to somehow badger him into.

“I should say no, you still owe me money,” he'd growled to his friend.

“You should say yes, and win it off me once I win it off someone else.”

Fenris had sighed, and given in, and had... enjoyed the game for the most part, even if he hadn't won back anything from the rogue. He'd been afraid that Varric might try to reminisce more about 'the old days with Hawke' but the dwarf hadn't even gone near the subject. The main entertainment besides the cards themselves had been the Iron Bull and the Herald of Andraste swapping humorously exagerrated stories of jobs their mercenary groups had been hired for.

And yet, even as he kept finding himself relaxing- the very realization he was doing so made him immediately uncomfortable.  _He didn't belong._

Sometime after the game, he gave up on trying to sleep in the now quiet camp, and rose- slinging his sword over his back and at first, just pacing, before finally wandering to the actual pool of water that was cradled in a hollow of rocks- leaving the firelight gave him a feeling of solitude that he suddenly needed again.

 

Moonlight reflected off the sand, making the night fairly well lit, but he still didn't notice someone else had wandered to the water until he rounded a boulder and almost walked right into the other man. Without thinking, he reached for his sword- but the Herald- who had also been startled, just chuckled.

“You're damn quiet,” he'd noted, with a tone of approval.

Fenris snorted, nettled that he hadn't actually found a spot to be alone, “So are you.”

But he also found himself staring. The Tal-Vashoth had stripped the leather armor off to leave his upper body bare, and even in the moonlight, the number of scars and tattoos revealed was high- and some of them-

“You have lyrium in those.” Fenris' voice was harsh. Had it been the man's own idea, or had someone done it to him?

The other man rubbed at the base of one of his horns, expression going slightly guarded, but nodded.

 “Yeah in some of them. Not a lot- just dust mixed into ink, but it does tend to stand out in moonlight, doesn't it?”

“ _Why?”_

“To get an edge in a fight.”

“You chose to be scarred and marked with lyrium for 'an  _edge_ '?”

“I take it you didn't choose having it done to you, then...”

“I-”  _he had, though, hadn't he. Not for an edge to fight but because he thought it would help his mother, his sister, and himself. Free them, and.. what, for him? Raise his status as a slave type, at least. Lessen the number of those who could attack him without any fear of retaliation._ He ground his teeth.

“It was my choice, and at the same time, it was not much of a choice. I would not choose it again.”  _the power to rip the heart out of someone, to land a blow with the power to shatter bone- would I really not? Especially if it didn't come with continued slavery attached- power with freedom. Would I have thought I needed it though if I had always been free?_

It would have been easier if the Tal-Vashoth had tried to argue that he would, or that he shouldn't have regrets- easier to storm away, but he instead kept staring. He saw actual dwarven runes, burned and inked into skin- the same frost rune Sandal had put on his blade- and others slightly less familiar. Bits of pattern that were less familiar but with the lyrium in them must be some manner of arcane thing- but also so much that didn't have that odd sheen. Geometric shapes that knotted and twisted and sometimes formed a dragon or other beast, sometimes formed a plant or flower- they seemed almost haphazard in places, until Fenris also realized the skin they were on was paler, many of the designs covering over or even emphasizing deep scars.

He wondered what the man's back looked like, or what all of this would look like in better light- and then cursed himself silently, wondering instead:  _why am I wanting to see more?_

And the Inquisitor didn't react to the open staring, just stood there patiently. Was he  _proud_ of all of this?

“It is not all for an edge.”

“No, some of it I just thought would look nice,” he chuckled, “and started to like the process- at least when there isn't the lyrium involved.”

“So you.. volunteered to go to a mage and let them-”

“Not a mage. Dwarf in the company that did runes for us. Worked them out together with him, and talked one of the alchemists who put Vitaar together into helping too. Takes more than just lyrium dust to make it work- some of the stuff we used would kill a non-Qunari or Tal-Vashoth.”

He chuckled, and there was no mistaking it, he  _was_ proud of it.

“Who needs such an edge, when they're already free?” he spat the words out without meaning to. The Tal-Vashoth loomed a little closer, looking down at him, but showed no overt anger.

“When I started, I don't think I was  _free,_ not in my head. You don't need an edge unless you've got something to cut.”

Flame flared up in the palm of his hand, and Fenris actually reached for his sword again out of sheer instinct, half drawing it off his back, but the Tal-Vashoth just shook his head. “I apologize, I know you hate magic, but I know you did catch me staring at your brands earlier-” he actually sounded apologetic, but now, he did narrow his green eyes slightly, and he sounded more like he was issuing a challenge. “So I thought maybe you'd like more light to stare by, to be fair about it.”

It was more obvious now, the other scars that made whole swathes of otherwise dusky bronze skin paler, pinker. Raised ridges of scar from burns- part of Fenris' mind couldn't ignore how both the 'natura' scars and the tattoos, as well as the cut or burned designs, even seemed to in one particular line, go down past the waist of his pants, following his hip. It may not have hurt like the lyrium, the pain so bad that it had swallowed the elf's sense of self entirely- but it would surely have been agonizing. Why had the man deliberately set out for more pain, more scars, after having already had so many?

“Care to see my back as well?”

“...Yes.”  _No. I meant to say no-_

Even though Fenris still had the hilt of his massive blade in hand, the other turned his back, raising his arm. His back was a mess. It was also beautiful, and again, not every tattoo or stylized scar hid what was beneath. Sometimes they flowed around a particular shape as if framing it, though there wasn't much space on his back that was so naked, and from the look of it, his ass was likely just as marked. When he breathed, or moved, the way the markings moved over his skin, scarred and not, was a little mesmerizing. Or something was. Fenris felt his ears and face get hot, and went back to the questions that he knew were too impolite, too personal for some stranger to ask. Gripping his sword prevented him from reaching out to touch one of those 'natural' scars, long enough for him to realize he wanted to, and refuse to do so more consciously.

“ _Why? What happened?”_

“There's Vashoth, Tal-Vashoth... and Tal-Vashoth. I was barely out of training, and the scouting group I was in was ambushed by the other kind. Raiders. I lucked out, they took long enough with me that I was still breathing when more of the company caught up with them.” _Under the words, the matter of fact tone, still sometimes a gaping chasm. He didn't know how long he'd been in that camp, being confused when he was suddenly elsewhere, and there were sucking black pits in his memory that he still doesn't want light on. Calling it 'luck' but his luck was always double-edged, perhaps all luck was. Suddenly having magic when he’d never before- that was not just double edged, that had needles and razors in the very hilt of things._

“Why? At first, there wasn't a pattern, and I don't really know why I kept reopening the wounds- maybe because then I felt I at least an excuse to not be going back out. Then one day I was staring at the runes carved on my blade, looked at the Vitaar I'd once worn on my face, and got the idea that I could turn scars into a weapon. So that nex time, I could  _**rip them apart** _ **.** ” It felt good to talk about it with someone.  _Still wanting to scream sometimes, after all this time. I had been staring at that knife for hours, wondering how deep I wanted to drive it into myself._

“And.. the rest?”

“It's because they are  _my_ scars. Used to feel like they were reminders of weakness, that I'd been- and still was-  _owned_ by my enemies even after they were dead. So I marked myself as mine- and hell, they're works of art, some of them- cost me most of my pay to get them where I can't do it myself.” He took a breath, and let the fire go out, some of the details washing out in moonlight, as he turned to face Fenris again.

“You cover them, though,” the elf wasn't sure why he felt the need to accuse the man of actually being as uncomfortable with those marks as he sometimes still felt of his own, when strangers stared and whispered- he couldn't hide his, they always shone through...

“Yeah, I can't afford to tell people who are bothered by them to just fuck off, not when I'm supposed to be leading. And some mages and Templars think it's too close to blood magic for some reason. Doesn't stop the scars or tattoos from being there.”

Fenris kept staring at him, his own thoughts jumbling together. He vaguely realized he  _still_ was gripping his blade, and let it go, to slide back down into its place on his back.

“Why did you tell me all of that?”

“You asked.”

“You could have refused to answer.”

“I suppose I was wondering if you might understand.”

The elf shook his head, “I'm not sure I do, not.. entirely. But then- even if I agreed to the brands for.. an edge... it was my Master who gave them to me.”

“They're still yours, not his, they're not just on your body, they're part of it now- well, for that matter, because of that I can't tell you how you should or shouldn't think of them. But I think they're a part of you.”  _And a beautiful, one, too._ “Sorry, I.. didn't..word that well perhaps.”

Fenris remembered similar conversations, with Hawke- and even Isabella once or twice. Always afterwards he'd had that twitching doubt though, because  _how could they have understood? The feeling of being owned, remembering that much physical pain, not knowing things about who you were or had been once-_

“...I heard you mention- you don't remember what happened, before you fell out of that breach, and the Inquisition found you.”

“I don't, other than the feeling I was chased by something, I vaguely remember a woman- maybe whatever others saw and thought was Andraste.”

“I..still have years where I remember nothing but flashes. All the time from before I was branded-” Fenris felt like he was digging old wounds himself now, but he couldn't quite stop himself from doing so.

Sethras just nodded, and somehow Fenris suspected- the Tal-Vashoth had more missing than just whatever had made him the Inquisition's Herald.

“I- You have my thanks for your patience.“

The man rumbled something like a chuckle, “I could say the same thing- and, speaking of patience- try sticking around a few more days, Fenris.”

That brought the elf's uneasy thoughts up short and he blinked. “What?”

“Just.. a thought.”

Inquisitor Adaar moved, slipping past Fenris, to head back to camp- the elf staring after him, feeling like he was made of nothing but knots, some of them unravelling fast. He was grateful to be left alone with his confusion.

Eventually, he rose, and went back to where his bedroll was, and tried to get some sleep before morning, still not decided on staying or not- but he was forced to admit to himself that if he left, it was because he was simply afraid, not because he enjoyed being alone so much... maybe a few more days, like the former mercenary had suggested, to see where it went.

For a while after he closed his eyes, what he saw instead of blackness were scars and tattoos, layered over older scars, not as bright as his own lyrium brands, but still containing a faint, pulsing glow. A thought drifted past, thick with sleep, to be forgotten in the morning:  _He's right..they are beautiful._


	4. Regrets and Resentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has another unexpected confrontation, as Varric gives his brooding friend a piece of his mind regarding the man's tendency to avoid things. For example, things like Hawke, and important conversations with her.

The camp come morning was almost lazy about getting started for the day- jokes and even a few hard arguments over breakfast, reminiscent of travelling with Hawke- but there were differences. Not a lot of talk about personal gains- unless one counted the Iron Bull's wanting to try finding the high dragon that had flown overhead yesterday to fight it. The Qunari had grumbled when right as they'd been getting ready to head out, (not necessarily to find the dragon), a message arrived that Hawke's informant was going to be waiting in Crestwood- for a short period of time..

“We'll be back Bull, even if we've found out they aren't getting their lyrium here, they'll need to be mopped up.”

“So that's a yes on fighting it later, Boss?”

“ _Must_ everyone encourage him?”

“C'mon Vint, afraid that cute mustache you spend so much time on is going to get singed off?”

Fenris had almost forgotten the brief mention earlier that Varric had called on Hawke to get some information, and now wasn't paying attention to the banter- or for that matter, worrying over the previous night's conversations with Adaar. _Would staying with this group mean meeting up with her too?_

His chest tightened, and he pulled Varric aside, “Varric.. is she part of the Inqusition too, or is it just messages?”

The dwarf sighed and looked up at him, “Wanting to avoid her, Elf? She's been keeping out of sight at Skyhold- but she's not part of the Inquisition, just an...outside expert because of Corypheus and the Wardens thing.”

“Bela?”

“Not as far inland as Skyhold, not even for Hawke... Look, Elf, I get that some complicated personal shit happened, but I was glad to see you upright and breathing still, and she would be too if you decide to stick around- but this is one of those situations where as the dwarf on the outside, I'm just going to have to keep my mouth shut, and resist hiring muscle tall enough to bang your heads together a few times.”

“Not to try and get you back together as some kind of item, because I don't think that's a workable story, but _Maker's balls_ , you either need to talk and find out you're still friends, or have a big enough fight that you can be absolutely sure you aren't anymore. Both of you are having regrets sour everything else that happened- and most of that is because you just assume you know how the other is feeling, without bothering to ask.”

“That is you keeping your mouth shut?” Fenris was torn between anger and amusement, apparently the dwarf hadn't lost his knack for getting such a reaction out of him.

“I meant I'm not going to try and argue with you if you decide to just ghost away again, or if you decide to stick with the Inquisition anyway but just never get within 80 yards of her. Though I'll admit I like the second idea better than you just fighting everything alone until you die alone- _Andraste's dimpled ass, Fenris_ , you hate slavers, Tevinters and blood magic, and that's what the rest of us idiots are fighting now, at least until we can find a way to take down Corypheus, and maybe even after that, since there's always loose ends. He wants an empire of demons and blighted lyrium that enslaves the entire world for him- do you really not _want_ to fight that? Or want to bow out of it because you might have to look Hawke in the eye again and either apologize or tell her once and for all that you don't think you have anything to apologize for?”

Fenris wasn't amused anymore, instead now the anger was mixed with.. shame? Embarrassment, at least, and some shock over the dwarf's vehemence. He gritted his teeth and tried to think of something appropriate to say, but the dwarf shook his head and wandered off, back towards the others, leaving him to stew it over. Alone.

Fenris didn't speak much, having fallen in wordlessly as they'd began the trek to Crestwood and when he wasn't completely buried in his own thoughts, he was getting to observe all the members of what Adaar half-jokingly referred to as _the inner council_ that had come to the Approach with him. Apparently there were more who sometimes traveled at his side, but the groups tended to switch out, letting everyone get some rest at their main fortress- everyone, except Adaar himself, who from the sound of it must be constantly on the move.

He had a hard time actually using the Tal-Vashoth's titles, even mentally. Something about the very idea of an actual Inquisition, or more to the point, his travelling with them, grated on Fenris still- and he didn't want to try dwelling on what. He had more than enough to dwell on already, and half-convinced himself that part of why he'd just continued with them was that wandering alone sunk in thought was a fast way to die..

When not lost in his indecision and foul mood, he kept finding himself observing Adaar, Inevitably comparing the man to Hawke as leader- he seemed slightly less likely to just _unthinkingly_ do stupidly heroic things, and was more willing to just accept that some people around him were unlikely or unable to be friends. This made dealing with the Tevinter or elven mage much more tolerable- although to be fair, neither were as on the constant attack as Anders to begin with- and neither were blood mages like Merill, at least, not openly so, and Fenris was finding himself willing to give them the benefit of the doubt- even if Solas made his head hurt with his ocassional opinions and observations on spirits vs. demons.

The Seeker, Cassandra, seldom said anything unless spoken to, and had a constant feeling of driven purpose to her. The Iron Bull enjoyed getting reactions out of people almost as much as the Tevinter did, but in a generally more laid back manner- when he wasn't being openly bloodthirsty. Sera was exitable, distractable, outright afraid of magic, and didn't much trust any organized group of people even if she'd grudgingly trust individuals- with special hatred towards nobles, and sharp, dismissive disdain for the Dalish..

Varric, was of course, himself- even if currently the two of them rather cautiously working around each other. But Fenris, after the dwarf's earlier speech still felt a bit off balance to realize something had changed in his friend- he was still a businessman in the background, but it had seldom been so far in the background for entire days at a time- and not all of that was simply because they were generally out in the countryside with no one to make deals with.

Adaar was slightly more prone to start talking without being prompted than Cassandra, but saved most of it for when they were taking a break or at a camp. He never brought up the conversation from that night by the first camp, but did sometimes pull Fenris into other ones- and Fenris realized the Tal-Vashoth kept quietly watching him. Had he noticed the argument with Varric? Was he having doubts about how much had been shared, or his reactions to it? Doubts about something else? Did he now hope that Fenris _would_ leave?

When the elf realized that there was sometimes a slight smile at one corner of Adaar's mouth when he caught him staring, it didn't help him decide on an explanation, just added a new and different sense of confusion, making something in his throat tighten.

_This is pointless. I should just be on my way in the morning. Alone. Perhaps split off right now-_

Maybe Varric was right. Or he just wanted a chance to argue with the dwarf that he wasn't, or perhaps the idea of getting to confront Hawke held sudden appeal.

Gritting his teeth, Fenris once again decided to stay. _For now_.


	5. Free Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The incredibly awkward and horrible reunion with Hawke that Fenris had told himself was inevitable never happens. It's only moderately awkward, and there's too much to be done for it to last long.

That resolve lasted until they stayed in a village two nights later, The place was showing signs of having been hit by bandits or possibly Corypheus' troops, rubble where a house had burned entirely, char marks on some buildings still standing, but now there was an Inquisition presence there protecting it. The track that wound north from the place being a route that would eventually lead to Skyhold, and that meant that travelers were coming through more often- pilgrims, refugees, recruits, messengers, ambassadors.

Fenris quietly sat in the tavern next to Varric, and decided he wasn't going to Crestwood- but not because he was choosing to avoid Hawke completely.. just- he didn't wish any confrontation to be in an open camp, or to disrupt anything.

“Varric- you were right. About some things at least. But it sounds like everyone will need to return to Skyhold after that meeting in Crestwood, yes?”

“Yeah. Unless the meeting's results are an emergency situation- everyone's going to need some rest and resupply. Could use it now, if it weren't for the limited time given to meet that Warden.”

“And this is the likely route for that?”

“As much as any other.”

“I need to.. think. But tell her I will be here.”

“Spoilsport, I wanted to see if she'd faint from the surprise of seeing you. Why not just go to Skyhold to wait?”

“I'd just prefer to wait here for now. It's quiet.”

The dwarf shrugged, “She'll probably get here before the rest of us- we have a tendency to get side tracked helping distressed villagers. You might want to go let the Inquisitor know too. That you're sitting Crestwood out but not necessarily gone for good, that is.”

“I intend to,” though he hadn't really thought about it, since he'd made the decision so abruptly. He rose, and headed up the stairs to where Adaar was working on reports and messages in a room. Another inevitable comparison followed- Hawke would have possibly needed to be chained to a desk to keep her working on paperwork for a full hour, especially with a taproom full of friends downstairs.

He found himself wondering though, did Adaar really enjoy being leader, or was it just something he accepted when he'd been given the role because he had been trained as a soldier?  _Why am I silently staring at the door wondering about his mental state rather than just delivering my damned message?_

 

**********

 

The waiting grated on his nerves, but he tried not to think about it much, tried not to wonder if she might just refuse to meet him. And when he wasn't trying to not think too hard about Hawke and any impending or refused meeting with her...

There was always Adaar to also try and avoid thinking too much about. The simple task of letting the Tal-Vashoth know he wasn't going to Crestwood turned into him explaining he just needed some time not travelling to consider things. And then somehow led to him actually bringing up his uncertainty about meeting Hawke and from there-

Talking to someone shouldn't have been so  _easy_ , but they'd sat, and talked. Mostly, Fenris had talked, and Adaar had listened. Maybe because of their first conversation, the elf had wound up baring some of his own scars.  _Kaffes!_ _I have known him what, not even a full week actually in his company? And he knows things Hawke or Varric did not get out of me for months. Because of what? Because he'd known me only one day and even though I snarled at him he just surrendered what should have been secrets to me._ _I hadn't wanted to know- he made me know anyway, made me look at his scars. Some of them like my own._

He poured himself another glass of wine at the table he'd semi-permanently claimed, one that let him keep his back to the wall and watch the room- and looked up to see Marian walking through the door.

She saw him, and smiled, though there was a wariness to it. It hurt, but not as much as he'd expected.

“Fenris, it's good to see you alive and well.”

“Hawke-” he invited her to sit with a gesture, and tried to think.

He had wanted her, but had also left her, she hadn't meant to hurt him, but he had deliberately tried to push her away for a time, and he did only have himself to blame that it had worked. He had thought those particular thoughts over and over since, but now a new one had joined them: maybe it hadn't been more than lust between friends, and maybe even if for a while it had been love, it would not have necessarily lasted anyway? Oh, it would have lasted longer if he hadn't pushed her away, but her being a mage, her constant trust of Anders- so many things had constantly kept even their  _friendship_ going back and forth like a fascinating pendulum even without his own bad behavior- although it certainly hadn't helped matters.

And he had been jealous, whereas she never had been, and she had also enjoyed the casual flirt, even had visited the Blooming Rose a time or two that he knew of. He may not have really lost as much as he'd thought for so long. Still lost  _something_ \- but...

“I apologize. When we parted ways, I said a number of things I should not have.”

“So did I- so did Bela. I can only apologize for myself, but if you're willing to let her do so, I think she'd appreciate it,” she laughed softly, “Don't tell her I said that though, just... track us both down sometime, if you get a chance.”

He'd been expecting to feel more jealousy than he did at the reminder of their relationship.

“You're both happy, then?”

“Yes,” they went quiet as the barmaid hurried over finally, staying that way until a tankard had been left for Hawke. “And.. how have you been?”

“Glad that Varric only recently was around to throw the word 'broody' at me in every conversation again- I have been well enough, though, really.”

“Only 'well enough'?”

“I- No, I think I have been doing better than that.”

They talked quietly, a little about old times, a little catching up- more Hawke telling some short stories of what she and Bela had been up to, but also apparently kept in touch with others- Aveline and Donnic having a daughter, Sebastian now ruling Starkhaven, and the awkwardness lessened further.

_I am glad they are happy- she is still beautiful but she has changed, or what I want has._

“And then Varric sent word about Corypheus and..I had to come help. How did you get mixed up in this? Varric started making up an interesting story about the Inquisition having to investigate why the Venatori kept running onto their weapons out of sheer terror, but I told him to save it for a book.”

Fenris snorted, “I had merely been dealing with slavers, and followed their trails and camps until I ran into him and his companions in the Western Approach. Pure chance.”

“Have you actually joined the Inquisition?”

He shifted in his chair, “I.. have not yet. The idea of being something like an actual soldier is unnerrving. You haven't joined, but are helping.”

“Because of Corypheus- he's what makes it personal. Otherwise... I'm done being a Champion, and I wouldn't take part in any of this. I sometimes wonder if Adaar knows what he's  _really_ in for, being held up as not just some hero of a single city, but as Herald of Andraste.”

That made Fenris shift uneasily in his seat.

“Varric pushes me to stay.”

“What's on your long list of reasons  _not_ to?”

He snorted, “I'm not some manner of hero-”

“Well that is one reason, though if you've seriously been spending all this time killing slavers, and freeing slaves, without getting paid for it, there may be room for argument.”

He glared at her, and she chuckled, but he went on, “I- there was nothing heroic about what I have been doing. That was- still just my own anger. I still have not found a new life, or,” he faltered a moment, then, more softly, ”I admit.. even looked hard for one.”

She had drawn back as his frustration surfaced further.

“I still simply travel in the same grooves, Hawke- I am alone, or I am.. following some other like a half-tamed dog,” but even though he was facing her, he found he was thinking of someone else. That was even more frustrating somehow, as if proof of a previously unseen flaw.

“Do you think less of Varric because he's following someone for fun and profit once again?” she asked it abruptly, like the thought had just occurred to her.

“What?” the idea seemed absurd, “Of course not- he just.. it is what he prefers.”

“He hates being the center of the story- so why is it so bad if _you_ seem to feel similarly?”

“ _Danarius-” how can she not see the obvious-_

She waved him silent, her eyes suddenly flashing, “So your first life, you had no choice but to follow- I just realized we both got it wrong, when we had this conversation before. The minute you were deciding what you preferred to do- and started choosing who to follow, that  _was_ a new life you were making already. And you didn't just follow me obediently, why you remember it that way is a mystery. You refused to help me sometimes, in Kirkwall, when you felt truly strongly about it. Even at the Gallows- you and Sebastian  _both_ sided against me, with the Templars, until Meredith proved herself to be mad. Then you joined with all of us again to take her down, you didn't feel you had no choice but to stay with her either.

“Maybe someday you'll see something else that you want to do, become a farmer, own a shop, raise a dozen kids somewhere- but if that's not what you  _want_ right now, then-”

“-then why be upset I do not have it,” he rubbed at his temples- what was it with other people all making painfully good points of a sudden?

“So... if you really are happiest right now, wandering the country alone, then fine- but... if you enjoy having company doing it- or find company you enjoy being with, why do it alone? If you ever find that you really want to leave, you can choose to do it.”

He growled a little, part of him wanting there to be something wrong with the idea- but that was it. He feared belonging, because...what was the difference between belonging as..a friend, a person, a lover, and belonging as a slave? There was a difference, but he didn't trust himself- or others- to see it, did he?

Slowly, he forced himself to relax, and shook his head.

“Thank you, Hawke, although maybe I will have arguments against that another time-”

“ _Maybe_ ? It's never the two of us talking alone without one angry debate, Fenris... and.. I think we have enough for tonight. It's late, and I need to leave again tomorrow for the Western Approach. Hopefully, the others will arrive soon to do the same.”

“I thought they would return first to Skyhold.”

Her expression was grim, “They may still do so, depending on how long it takes them to finish what they started in Crestwood. It was a mess there, but time might be running short. I need to go scout with Stroud- you might remember him. He's the one that.. helped Carver. Best he didn't actually come into town, all things considered, but he's verified that Corypheus has been meddling with Wardens on a much larger scale than before.”

He swore quietly, and she chuckled tiredly, “That's what the Inquisitor said when he found out it was the Western Approach that they were experimenting in. On the bright side, they didn't waste the trip, Crestwood was being destroyed by undead- they were going to try and fix that before heading this way again.”

The idea of just sitting here, maybe for several more days, instead of doing  _something_ useful made him almost choke.

“Would it be helpful if I went with the two of you instead of waiting?”

She shook her head, rising, "I think he'd rather it just be the two of us for this- I had a hard enough time getting him to agree to let Adaar meet him. And.. perhaps we can talk again, later, when ever, _if_ ever there is time, at Skyhold, perhaps."

He nodded, a bit sourly, but she extended a hand.

"Friends again?"  


He took it, and didn't flinch away from the word for once. "Yes. Friends still."

It was nice to hear her laugh again, before she headed out.


	6. Faded Flashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris hated the idea of being in the fade enough when it was just a dream thing.

Blood magic. Mages. _Blight-addled Grey Wardens-_

And the non-mage Wardens had even just willingly sacrificed themselves. All of them thinking it was a _good idea_ to summon demons and bind them, an entire army's worth. All of them thinking that was some sort of answer to their belief they were dying.

His brands burned, more painfully than they had in some time, and he suspected that Adaar's runes and tattoos also must hurt, by how the Tal-Vashoth moved with a strange stiffness rather than his usual easy grace. Of all the places Fenris never wanted to be- they were in the Fade, and not as some dream. Physically in it, though opening the rift had not been consciously done by Adaar, it had happened reflexively as they'd been falling.

Cole- the... spirit, he'd already made Fenris uneasy, and he had been quite glad that his lyrium brands apparently made noise enough that the boy didn't go around listening to his thoughts as he did others. In here, he'd gone into a panic, and the elven warrior had more than half expected him to become a demon, but Adaar and Solas were talking to the spirit when needed.

Six of them had wound up here, hopefully those who hadn't had made it off the archway and not fallen to their deaths. Hopefully, the six of them would find a way out, despite two of them being in distracting amounts of pain that no potions would help, and a third having to fight off panic that could very well turn him against his friends.

Solas, other than when pausing to reassure Cole or when being personally taunted by the nightmare demon whose territory this was, seemed to find the place absolutely fascinating, and was entirely too happy.

Hawke and Stroud were far more reasonably upset about the whole experience.

**

 

Fenris shifted his grip on his blade, and felt a twitch of jealousy as Adaar gathered up memories- jealousy he was ashamed of almost immediately, but still there had been that hot flare of envy. That the memories had been unpleasant didn't entirely negate the feeling, and later, Fenris would be glad there hadn't been desire demons to take advantage of that..

**

 

Everyone witnessed Adaar's memories of the Conclave. Tempers were fraying now between Hawke and Stroud, over the Wardens' roles- and the Inquisitor had to step in and stop their arguments. Adaar and Solas were still the calmest out of all of them- or seemed to be.

**

 

“Spiders? They do not look like spiders to me,” Adaar's voice had a twitch to it, “..they look like Tal-Vashoth,” and only Cole and Fenris weren't confused by that flat statement. The elf muttered a curse and his knuckles were white until he managed to relax his grip on his blade again.

They never had looked like spiders to him either, he'd been fighting slavers, and over and over again, even after all this time, Magister Danarius and his apprentice. But it at least also made the kills satisfying.

**

 

Cole sometimes was reaching up to touch the tall Inquisitor on the shoulder, and muttering something to him. Fenris moved closer, and heard reassuring tones to the spirit's voice, and took back a few of his earlier thoughts and fears about the boy, as in between fights, Cole helped his friend.

He felt a little shame that he had no idea how to help beyond helping kill the smaller nightmares as fast as possible.

**

 

The friendly-seeming spirit with the likeness of the late Divine kept leading them onward, and Fenris hoped it was not just a trap. She/it assured them they were getting close.

**

  
Sometimes, all of them could hear the taunts directed at each other, other times, only a reaction from the target showed they'd been whispered to.

 

**Becoming a demon.**

**Failing to protect anything loved.**

**No more wardens, no more hope.**

**Dying alone and forgotten.**

**Losing free will and freedom.**

**Being broken, being useless, being _trash_.**

 

**

 

Staggering through the rift, into the center of Adamant, bleeding, bruised, cracked bones, all five of them needing healing, but first taking in deep breaths of air.

Almost passing out from the sudden cessation of that lyrium burn, and almost being deafened by the shouting and cheers.

Stroud had been left behind. He had volunteered to be a sacrifice to a demon, just like so many of his fellows had. Hawke had volunteered as well, had argued with him- but Adaar had refused to let her. This was a Warden mess, Stroud had said it, she had said it herself.

When the Inquisitor had told the remaining Wardens to go to Weishaupt, to leave, Hawke had immediately shouldered them as a burden, her declaration to Fenris earlier that she was done being a Champion proven to be a lie once again, and he almost laughed with weariness- disagreeing with a cause she'd suddenly taken felt like old times.

Maybe in a few days, or weeks, the two branded men would have a bit of sympathy again for the wardens having been tricked, or maybe not, but not while the stones were still painted with blood and demons were rotting all around them, and they were still hearing the taunting voice.

**

 

Finally some peace, everyone heading for rest in tents or rooms within Adamant that hadn't been damaged. Physical injuries had been healed, at least for those of them who'd been in the fade, but exhaustion and stress were a poisonous fog.

Adaar had, of course, kept insisting he was fine, very believably, and now they had wound up ignored a bit- though both Fenris and Cole hadn't left his side.

The elf didn't even think when he saw the Inquisitor sway, moving in, and putting an arm around him, they leaned against each other, though the elf shouldered more of the weight, gritting his teeth. 

Then Cole helped on the other side, and the three of them made it to a random room closer than the one that had been meant for the Inquisitor, where Fenris and Adaar collapsed abruptly into a hopefully dreamless sleep, and the spirit did what he could to help.

 


	7. Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time to rest at Skyhold after Adamant, and Fenris has far too much time to think*.
> 
>  
> 
> ** _I think you mean ' **brood** ', Foxy. He's brooding. It's what he does."  
> "Shush, Varric, **I'm** telling this one."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW in this chapter for: Brief/undetailed reference to past abuse and rape

Fenris had the room that had been Hawke's, though it was not as if traces of her stay were left, or that it was deliberate- it had merely been the easiest to make available one when they'd returned after Adamant- he still had never said a word about staying, but apparently as long as he did, he was being given his own space at the fortress, like any of those who were in the Inquisitor's inner circle of companions.

He appreciated the privacy, and having an actual bed that he could get used to as his own again- for however long he stayed. He leaned against battlements, and watched the activity in the courtyard below.

They'd been here for four days so far after returning from Adamant- according to Varric, it was almost a record for how long the Inquisitor managed to stay home in between putting out fires. The first time he'd been here, it had been that quick stop over as Adaar had planned the campaign with the war council- and only then had he found out that the general of the Inquisition armies was the former Knight-Captain of the Kirkwall Templars. Apparently even the spymaster had been in Kirkwall once, had met Hawke, Sebastian, and some of the others. It felt strange to find so many links to that city, so far away from it.

Even the bottle of wine he was finishing off was a familiar variety and vintage- not the very best that had been in Danarius' cellars, but even saying that, it was far better than any that had been available to him since leaving there. Adaar had brought it by, the second night here.

“ _A lot of people would've made a fuss if they'd known I was in bad shape. I appreciate friends who understand keeping it quiet._ ”

Somehow they'd wound up playing Diamondback- or rather, for some reason Fenris had invited him to stay and do so. They hadn't talked about the Fade or Adamant at all, instead discussing Skyhold and the Inquisition, Adaar laughing as Fenris mentioned he'd been surprised by how.. non-religious most of the inner circle at least seemed, and how he'd expected more around even the main fortress to have ties to Chantry.

“ _Only chantry folks here still are ones who'd be kicked out or maybe locked up if they did go to one of the major centers. Believing in or just following the Herald of Andraste because it seems a better idea than not doing so is heresy, we're dangerous to the status quo. Maybe if I'd been human and followed the Chant they'd have been less terrified- probably not by much though. If the Conclave hadn't become a crater, the Inquisition would've been started to investigate abuses of power- and not just within the Templar Order and the Circles- but even in the actual Chantry. People who know that hold a grudge even if we're too busy to be doing that sort of thing yet.”_

“ _Yet?”_

The Tal-Vashoth had chuckled, _“The only ways I have of getting out of being Herald, even after defeating Corypheus, will be by dying or spending the rest of my life hiding in the deepest pit I can find. Even if I didn't have personal reasons to have been unhappy about the way mages are treated- as someone who'd have been killed or made Tranquil if caught because I was too weak to be worth training. Even if I didn't think Templars are often textbook examples of how idiots at the top mismanage an armed force and think of soldiers as expendables- well the ones in the Chantry who are loudest about us staying out of their business would be happy to make a martyr of me. Picturing being set on fire, stabbed in the back, or having mobs incited against me- yeah, I'll try taking them down first, whenever I have time to work on it.”_

Fenris still twitched at reminders that the Adaar was actually a mage- it was one of the things that made him uncomfortable around the Tal-Vashoth, especially when the reminders came in quiet conversation rather than by watching him fight- after all, one could think that his ability to wrap himself or what he wielded with fire and ice, briefly speed his movement and reactions, or obscure himself with a poisonous fog were merely because of his markings- like Fenris' own abilities. But Adaar used inborn magic, not pure lyrium, to power what he did- and it was hard to think of that as something _weak_ magic could do.

Yesterday, he'd overheard the woman named Vivienne say something about blood magic to Adaar, as a conversation was ending in a quiet hallway. He'd had little contact with her- she'd been with the armies at Adamant, and had sniped at Solas and Dorian on the road to and from. She clearly missed the Circle, thought they had been a necessity, that mages NEEDED to be watched and kept under control, and in that first conversation, hadn't Adaar said she thought what he'd done, that many other mages thought what he'd done was a form of blood magic?

Solas and the Tevinter didn't show signs of distrusting Adaar, but one was.. _Tevinter_ , a Magister's son and heir no less, and the other still acted like being in the Fade physically was something he'd be willing to do again for pleasant study.

It was enough to start old, paranoid thoughts about mages in general, now applied specifically to Adaar- thoughts he didn't want to have about the Tal-Vashoth who was leading something like the Inquisition. Whose other way of making Fenris uncomfortable was by being more and more _attractive_ as time went on and they were in each others' company.

It had been a long time, since that night when being intimate with Hawke had stirred up memories and had seemed to _prove_ that it was dangerous to touch and be touched. She had been the first he had gone to willingly, willing and full of need- yet the result had been jagged and biting memories. He'd decided _never again._

_Which did not work, did it?_

And now- a Tal-Vashoth who spent almost as much time of a morning- even on the road- on himself as the Tevinter mage did (though blessedly without Dorian's apparent need to call everyone's notice to it later)- was slowly beginning to drive him mad.

No, not even slowly, or at least, not slow enough. In just a few weeks of knowing him, not even knowing him well, Fenris was feeling heat over green eyes lined with black kohl looking down at him during a conversation, and wondering what polished and carved horn might feel like if he ran fingers over it-

_No. I do not want complications such as that. And surely he does not either- not with what was done to him. I still fear as much as I desire, I still remember not wanting to be touched- I still do not wish it, many days._

_Which is something he would understand. He wouldn't ask what he had done wrong, or accuse me of leading him on, would he?_

He'd woken up at Adamant, suddenly, almost in a panic, actually remembering helping the other man get to this bed- but he'd been alone in it already. Still fully clothed, it had been less falling asleep than simply passing out- and he'd started to get out of the bed, and then stopped, because the Tal-Vashoth had been sleeping on the floor. Someone- probably Cole- had covered him with blankets, and he'd taken the pillow that had been on the fairly narrow bed ( _How had they both fit on it even for the time it took to pass out? Vague, sleep-fogged memories of feeling trapped between stone wall and the warmth of the other man.._.)

Adaar must have woken at some point earlier, and moved away from him. At the time it had been nothing but a relief, and yet now he kept worrying _was it to be polite to me, because he simply felt uncomfortable in the same bed as someone, especially another man- or because being beside me was painful and made nightmares worse?_

He hadn't asked. Adaar had not brought it up.

_I cannot ask that. There is no point to wondering. Never again, after all- it would not end well. Cannot end well. Should not even start, even if he was interested in me- which he is **not**._

 


	8. Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole has been trying to help. 
> 
> Maybe he has.

_Another attractive thing about him- he's tall for an elf- even compared to many humans. Easier to see his pretty eyes or kiss him. Less feeling like a tree that's being climbed if things ever get that far. Although that's sometimes kind of a fun feeling._

Sethras had fallen back into routine for the most part, little time at Skyhold, more time moving around the countryside- but being back was nice, a chance to relax, have more private conversations with people and have time to think them over, without needing to be on alert for enemies or treacherous terrain. An alcove, a room, an empty hallway- or the tavern or great hall, where there was so much background noise and general entertainment that only the most desperately nosy (or professional spies) would pay attention to what was being said at some other table..

And Cole wasn't necessarily close enough by, or too easily distracted by all the people with bigger problems than Sethras'- to hear when he was Fenris-watching (or in absense of the elf, just thinking) and innocently bring it up.

 

_You like his quiet, it makes you feel louder and brighter, less bitter, safer._

 

_Everything echoes and sharpness against rocks but the snow fell thick and made it all silent, softer, beautiful._

_But his hair isn't snow, or his eyes or frown, he's a lot warmer._

 

_You miss being able to ask. You think you shouldn't because you're Herald and that might be why they say yes instead of you, and that makes it feel wrong. But you **are** the Herald, the Herald is you- if they say yes it is because they want you, isn't it? I don't understand. _

 

_Like Stormclouds, trails of lightning, humming instead of thunder but you feel it the same way on your skin when he walks beside you._

 

_Never Herald or Inquisitor, always your name, so the answer might really be about Sethras._

_Wishing and wondering, wanting someone willing. Him most of all._

_Why don't you ask?_

 

Cole _did_ , he had to admit, make him sound poetic sometimes, even if it was hard to appreciate when it felt like someone had just stuck a finger into a wound to see if it hurt. But Sethras still owed the spirit for helping him avoid becoming an Abomination, and beyond that, well- Sethras wasn't going to get angry at kids for being kids, spirits being spirits, or Cole being a combination of the two.

And there was no way to not think about how useful it was to hear what Cole found in other people- what he found inside the Inquisitor was something along the lines of repayment: it wouldn't be fair if only the secrets of others were overheard.

If it was used against him by someone someday, he'd just have to find a way to counter it. (Though it was certainly another reason to never have Vivienne beside him at the same time as Cole.. as much as he wondered what made her tick, and knew she was possibly a future problem. She  _would_ go with what made her feel most in control and secure, and what most promised to allow her view of the world, even if that meant turning on him personally or the Inquisition itself at some point. He respected her for that, even if he preferred having actual friends as allies.)

Someday, Cole might understand enough to be upset at how the Mercenary-Turned-Inquisitor thought about things, and Sethras would regret having let him down. He wasn't particularly proud of thinking of secrets as ammunition or levers, when it came to respected allies and friends, but that was what they could be when needed to survive. And he was a survivor by nature.

And he was the Herald, which chained him to the Inquisition for as long as it lasted or until it threw him out the door (probably in pieces, if that happened). Being a symbol to people rather than being seen as someone just doing a job meant you didn't get a sensible contract, with clauses about what would invalidate it.

He shook his head to clear it- looking back to where Fenris had been sparring with the Iron Bull and some of the Chargers as training- or maybe for fun, to settle bets, or a combination of them all, when Bull's Chargers were concerned.There was an audience, of course, soldiers off duty, servants likewise- some of them attractive enough, like the serving girl from the tavern that kept sidling up closer to Krem when he wasn't one of the ones sparring (hell, if they weren't technically working for him, just another merc group at some tavern, Krem might have been fun to flirt with himself)-

 

_You miss being able to ask. You think you shouldn't because you're Herald and that might be why they say yes instead of you, and that makes it feel wrong. But you **are** the Herald, the Herald is you- if they say yes it is because they want you, isn't it? I don't understand. _

 

Trying to explain to Cole the intricacies of being in a position of power and how that meant that people might say yes out of fear, out of the expectation that a 'no' might mean trouble for them, or because they wanted, well, ammunition, favors other than an entertaining night...that had been something of a nightmare, and of course no one else had wanted to help him with it.

It wasn't the  _asking_ he missed, well, not the most. It was getting a 'yes' when. Being wanted for a while. Being  _touched_ . Pleasure to answer the dull ache or hot little stabs of pain that were the side effects of his experiments in runic/magical theory. Someone else enjoying his scars- the scars meant he didn't get 'yes' as much as he might have wanted, but since becoming Herald-

It hadn't been a problem for a while- he was too busy with other things, too  _uncertain._ He was having to find his balance and figure out the campaign he'd been thrown into.

But eventually loneliness caught up bit by bit. Too damn long without someone else's hands on his skin... then Fenris had shown up, and been impossibly handsome, with those beautiful brands like lightning tamed to his skin.

Fenris, grim, suspicious, sometimes sarcastic, not seeing the Herald of Andraste and Inquisitor as anything but one of a group of strangers that an old friend had brought onto his turf, albeit accidentally. He might as well have just been a mercenary scout, leader of a squad at most. Completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but  _maybe_ interesting to work with until something better came along.

 

_Never Herald or Inquisitor, always your name, so the answer might really be about Sethras._

_Wishing and wondering, wanting someone willing. Him most of all._

_Why don't you ask?_

 

That had been all the nails in the coffin over time, hadn't it? Now Sethras was hopelessly infatuated, and he didn't even want to ask anyone else. If Fenris refused him- maybe... maybe. But-  What had been that reaction, those times when he'd heard and realized Cole and Sethras meant _him_? Angry embarrassment that it had been said in public? Or worse?

Of course the only way to know for certain and not just spend hours wondering and guessing was to ask, but Sethras had been avoiding asking any number of questions since Adamant. 

 

_**Why don't you ask?** _

 

Fenris might say no. Might not find him desirable for any number of reasons.

The Inquisitor muttered a curse and rose, heading for the steps up to the walls- the sparring had finished while he'd been lost in thoughts. First, he'd check in on Cullen- then, maybe. Maybe he'd find his way to the corner tower and perhaps if Fenris was there again and hadn't gone for drinks or off to some other entertainments after sparring...

Maybe he'd ask.


	9. Ask Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is also a little worked up over the things Cole revealed about Adaar on the way back to SKyhold. Just a little worked up. Smidgen.
> 
> Fortunately the Inquisitor had decided to yes, try and talk things out. If Fenris is in the mood for talking.

Fenris felt he should be more used to there being people interested in his personal business, after all those years with Hawke and the others, but that blasted spirit-boy-assassin took it to extremes. Even Merrill had had a better grasp on what not to speak of openly-

The Iron Bull had been at least more polite in his meddling, giving the pretense that his Chargers needed some practice against a different foe than himself or Krem with two-handed weapons, when more privately he'd noted that Fenris looked like he needed to just hit some things. Though, it also was likely that Bull had wanted to face Fenris himself and saw the opportunity- the Qunari had tried getting the elf to agree before without having other reasons lined up.

But he'd also been right- there hadn't been nearly enough fighting on the road back to Skyhold, considering how he'd felt when he realized who Cole had meant. He tried to not pay attention to the spirit's words when he was talking to others. And yet... when it was Adaar, he found himself wanting to listen, didn't he? Otherwise, he always kept as much distance as he could between himself and the mind-reader, and stayed thankful that his brands made it harder for the boy to hear anything from him.

The handful of times Cole had heard something, he'd been furious, but the apologetic reaction from the spirit after his reaction had made him feel like a fool, even if that didn't help his temper, he tried reigning it in further. At least he'd had practice with Merril. At least Cole wasn't a blood mage, and not a demon, it had taken Adamant to convince Fenris of that second, but.. not a demon, and not something like Justice had been in Anders.

And the thoughts Cole had heard hadn't been about Adaar. At least not the ones he'd asked about or repeated. But... Adaar's apparent thoughts about  _him_ .

 

_Like Stormclouds, trails of lightning, humming instead of thunder but you feel it the same way on your skin._

 

Fenris still felt the lyrium react, any time Adaar shut a rift or pinned down enemies with that power he could draw from the fade. Of course the Tal-Vashoth would feel something too. He'd found himself wondering of a night what that marked hand might-

He cursed himself. Part of him wanted to hate the very idea that some of the attraction was  _because of the lyrium._ Adaar's words about how it was now truly a part of  _him_ aside, he still felt like something was being pushed upon him.

_Or am I just looking for something to blame rather than my own desires, so that I can keep refusing easily? So that I can hold myself to 'never again' because I am afraid of belonging to someone, afraid of more memories surfacing at a touch, afraid of being an ass and then having more regrets over the consequences?_

And the second time- it had been a moment but.. no, he never called Adaar anything but by that name, did he? He has no interest in a Herald or Inquisitor still. And having become familiar with the buzzing rumors of Skyhold... any lover of the Herald would be found out about. Whispered about. Even if all affection and intimacy was kept within a locked room with no lights on, details would simply be made up. He would wind up a focus of attention... and a possible point of weakness. He would, if asked, say no to the Herald, within a heartbeat. But to Adaar- Serath, with that scar on his lip and unsettling eyes the color of rifts and the mark on his hand-

The matches with the Chargers and even with Bull himself had  _not_ been enough to cool his mood. This.. frustration. Like he hadn't felt in years.

A knock on his door, an interruption to his finding other methods of dealing with it, “Fenris-”

He jerked his door open and stared up at Adaar, and something in his expression made the man pull back slightly as if in a flinch, before recovering, though his expression was one of someone who'd already heard the  _no._

_Like all the times I tell myself that, and all the times I tell myself that is what he would say, even though I knew otherwise, even before that spirit opened his mouth. I'm not so stupid or oblivious to not recognize flirtation, I just told myself it could not be the case. Or it was no different from when Bela had._

“I- we need to talk, Fenris, I do not want any more misunderstandings-.”

“ _Kaffes,_ Adaar, _”_ he looked past him, but there was no one in sight- no patrolling sentry near, at least. He grabbed the larger man to jerk him into the room, slamming the door shut again. “ _**Ask** _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahaha so when I started writing this three days ago I had been all "I just want to do a sort of short one shot smut fic because Fenris and a Qunari Inquisitor that is into scarification/branding would be awesome"
> 
> NOOOBODY EXPECTS THE 9 CHAPTER EXPOSITION. /montypythonvoice


	10. Slow, Hard, Sweet, and Sometimes Hard to Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Inquisitor Adaar finally have that much needed conversation about their mutual desires, and most of the talking isn't done with words.

Fenris was strong, that grab entirely unexpected- and Sethras found himself bewildered and staring. He'd thought the elf was furious with him, disgusted, perhaps, with that look when the door opened, and it had made his stomach knot. But now he'd been dragged in rather than the door shut in his face, and the knot unravelled enough for him to feel a sudden hope, and unravelled fully when the warrior _demanded_ he ask. Get it over with. A lot of Sethras felt like it was unravelling, he felt like his blood was catching fire and that his brain was fogged by the smoke.

“..Would you rather kill me, or fuck me? I think I could live with either-”

“'Both' may be an option-” the elf's deep voice growled with frustration still, “ _I had not wished to feel this way again_.”

Sethras' throat tightened “Fenris, I want you. But whatever you wish. Any time you need- I just.. I will do it. Start, stop, walk out the door, leave you in peace-”

The Tal-Vashoth's low rumble held promise of sincerity, and an almost pleading note that made the elf's breath harsher as he remembered flashes of his desire, those hot, wet, dreams that had visited him.

“Leaving me in peace is no options. Your very existence is unsettling. Start, but slowly.”

Sethras nodded and moved in, a hand reaching to stroke along Fenris' face and bring him in, bending to kiss, tight and breathless. It started gentle, testing kiss on the Tal-Vashoth's part, and the elf's hands also were slow and careful as he wrapped arms around the man, knowing he was in his armor, with the sharp tips to his fingers.

Fenris deepened the kiss, and Sethras groaned softly, daring to slowly run his large hands down over the warrior's back, and with a muttered curse, the man started to unbuckle his gauntlets, the kiss ending.

“Want me to help with the armor?” he kissed softly at the Elf's jaw, just below a pointed ear as he asked.

“..Yes.”

His hands now bare, Fenris stroked along Sethras' face with a hand, while the mage carefully tugged at buckles and straps, the elf kissed him again, his mouth becoming fiercer, and fingers dug up the Tal-Vashoth's face, running along the pierced edge of his ear, making his breath catch. Sethras pulled away spirit hide, setting it down- fingertips sliding along Fenris' bared sides slowly, then starting on more fastenings.

It felt like it took years before Fenris was down to smallclothes, tenting at the front, and Sethras was now on his knees, since that had made the final straps more easily reachable. He'd kissed at skin as he worked, and now he looked up at the elf, who was watching him in hot fascination.

“Shall I take those off you as well?”

Fenris groaned, eyes closing, “ _Yes.”_

Remaining hesitations were burning away from the warrior, as he felt more in control again- of the man in front of him, and of himself. No flares of lost memory, just his desire finally being met and made hotter. He shuddered as cloth was carefully pulled down and away, and he ran his fingers through the tight braided rows of coarse black hair that ran along the Tal-Vashoth's scalp, then stroked along one of his horns, finally getting to feel the cool polished smoothness and the ridges of the carvings- fingers on his scalp, teasing braids, made Sethras' shoulder muscles twitch and shudder, as he kissed along the elf's stomach, tilting his head as if inviting Fenris to get a better grip on that horn.

With a shudder, the elf obliged, taking his horns and tugging upwards, though still being careful- “ _Get up._ ”.

Sethras hissed, but in a pleased way, at the manhandling, and rose- the elf's hands left his horns, to find their way into his shirt, and he arched into the touch. The Tal-Vashoth didn't stroke back, instead, he began working at his own clothing, tugging his shirt's fastenings open, Fenris helping tug it down off his shoulders and arms sharply, to stare his marked skin, and then begin to stroke and explore again.

“Can I touch your brands?” so far, Sethras hadn't, though he ached to- his fingers and palms on skin not marked by lyrium when not working on undressing. The question made Fenris' fingers dig in, and he gasped.

“Not yet- your pants,” the elf was breathing heavily, slowly, enjoying the growing realization that even if he was Adaar's, right now, Adaar was _his_ also _,_ as the scarred mage eagerly complied and finished undressing, freeing his stiffened cock, and for the first time showing the pinkish pale scars and black or blue tattoos did continue down his muscular thighs- they became more sparse in line further down his legs, but still, even his feet were decorated. The light trail of short dark hair from his navel downwards, thickening slightly around his balls was also something Fenris hadn't gotten much time to notice before, disrupted by a slash of scar tissue midway.

Though appreciation of the way the designs flowed along his muscle and contrasted with his normal dusky bronze skin was somewhat distracted for the time being, as Fenris slid strong, sword-callused fingers around the Tal-Vashoth's cock appreciatively instead, making Sethras gasp and arch, wanting to reciprocate, his large hands still on 'safe' areas of dark skin. His fingers dug a little more into smooth flesh and muscle whenever Fenris stroked along his cock, as he kept exploring places not branded or between thighs. Finally he slid a hand down, hoping he was still slow enough, to stroke a thumb along the elf's length, rewarded by a harsh sound of need, and the warrior dragged his mouth down for another kiss, this one crushing, deep and groaning, while fingers continued their intimate work. Since Sethras was not about to pull his head back from that kiss, Fenris' hand moved and he felt along that deep scar that split the mage's chin, up towards busy lower lip, then down once more.

Adaar all but whimpered in need, a deep rumble from his throat as Fenris pressed in closer, bodies fully meeting- the smell and hum of lyrium sharpening when the elf's marked hand went to one of the arcane sigils on him.

.“ _Fenris_ \- I have wanted you for _so long_..” the kiss had ended, but he was still leaned in, his dark lips following the bright brands down the elf's chin and then throat almost worshipfully, and he rubbed the head of the warrior's hard cock with a thumb.

“You- have convinced me. Killing is no longer an option,” Fenris chuckled deeply, no longer stroking Sethras' cock and taking his wrist, making him let go of the elf's as well. “Not deliberately at the least.” His grip moved to better shove the man back to the bed- not really made for two if one was as big as a Tal-Vashoth- even one who was slender and short compared to some- but certainly adequate, especially since Fenris didn't intend them to just lie side by side.

“ _Vashkath-”_ Sethras swore, finding himself all but thrown to be facedown and pinned by an unnaturally strong elf, but it was not an unhappy curse, squirming back against his beautiful lover desperately, and when the pin let up as Fenris went reaching for something to the side, he only moved enough that he could draw himself to a more comfortable position, without grinding uncomfortably.

Fenris was soon against his back again, and in both of them, the pure, embedded lyrium flared and pulsed- more weakly since mixed with ink in Sethras, but still noticable. Fenris was the one to swear now- it hadn't been so obvious and strong with Hawke, but the brief recognizing of this fact wasn't anything that could interfere with his need. It was just another part of their lust, and contemplation or regrets had no place here anymore.

Fenris jerked open a jar of oil used for his spirit hide armor- not made for its current purpose, but safe for it, and now the fingers he ran along himself and his lover were slick, moving over twitching, jerking skin. Both were breathing heavy and harsh as the warrior was on the mage's back, reaching around to follow ridged patterns of scar to a nipple, as he rutted against ass and between thighs, the Tal-Vashoth drawing himself up further as needed to make it easier for the elf to reach wherever he wanted, grabbing the short headboard of the bed to brace up with one strong arm, his other going down to stroke himself.

The warrior groaned, and kissed and licked along lines, moved his hands in exploration- there were places- thick with the scars from wounds rather than design- where Sethras didn't feel touch easily, but the reaction when such touches moved to less damaged areas after was sweet. The arcane marks were tame to a fingertip, even though the Tal-Vashoth's reaction was still to cry out, as if they were sensitive spots, but if Fenris ran lyrium against them they both felt the humming jolt- over the right runes, the lyrium woke heat, cold, or a spark- just enough to feel, to make skin tighten in reaction.

Pausing for a moment in his mapping of Sethras' body with his hands, Fenris finally shifted to thrust into him as well, both of them crying out in relief that it finally had happened. Despite being built on a larger scale than the elf, the mage's ass was still hot and tight enough- and instead of stroking himself, now the Tal-Vashoth was simply bracing as Fenris finally made it clear that the time for 'slowly' was over.

Unable to resist, the elf caught up his lover's horns to jerk his head back slightly, testing, as he thrust deep, and the large man shudered hard, crying out his name desperately.

“Sethras- Adaar- You will tell me if you wish me to stop?” Fenris slowed, a more lucid realization of how much he wanted to unleash himself came through- his lover had said _he_ would stop any time the elf desired, but now, it might be himself that needed warning...

“Yes, _yes_ I will tell you- _vashkath, Fenris-_ please, get back to it,” he writhed and bucked his ass back into the elf shamelessly. How long since he had a lover this strong? One he trusted as well as wanted? _And to hear his given name on that tongue- “_ And when I am yours, alone... _please call me Sethras_.”

The Tal-Vashoth bowed his head, feeling the hand still gripping a horn, Fenris' other finding his prick and fingering it, before moving it up, to run over his stomach, trailing precum, it was a moment of otherwise stillness, before Fenris gave him a kiss where neck joined shoulders.

“Sethras..” the way the elf said it, in his smooth, serious voice, like every sound had a taste to enjoy, almost was enough to make the mage come early. “I have _dreamed_ of your being mine-”

“ _So get back to taking me,_ ” the Tal-Vashoth sounded demanding more than pleading, urgent, still shamelessly caught in rut, and Fenris chuckled, the tone dark with the fires of lust that had only been slightly banked for a time, and began to thrust again, slow at first, and deep, but not staying slow for long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up "Vashkath" as a swearword, because frankly, sometimes you just need more swears than canon provides, especially for a character who's REALLY unlikely to yell for the Maker- and although I suppose some of the more colorful Andraste blasphemies could have been picked up out of sheer habit, those seem wordy for some of life's little moments.


	11. Key Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of that first night together, and the morning/day after.
> 
> Fenris still has his fears, and Adaar has a gift for him.

Fenris had left bruises on even Sethras' thick skin, from fingers digging in, from bites he'd have not even considered taking, not until suddenly he had _needed_ to while fucking the Tal-Vashoth.It may have not entirely been about Sethras himself, but all the years of regret and longing obsession over Hawke that he'd kept pent up inside- that obsession was over, or close to, but it had left echoes of hunger, and now he could sate them.

The sound of the Tal-Vashoth's thick voice, groaning his name, swearing rather than sweet talking, especially when Fenris thrust into his sweet spot, bucking his hips into them, the headboard creaking in his grip as he came with a deep cry that might have carried to the sentries on patrol beyond stone walls and thick door if he hadn't shifted an arm and muffled himself against it, muscles shuddering- the elf was also undone all too soon, gasping a curse of his own in Arcanum, as he arched, sticky load lost in his lover only minutes after Sethras had soiled the sheets thoroughly with his own.

It took time for both of them to really relax and calm down, Fenris vaguely remembered pulling out, and then Sethras had moved and rolled and had him held close, almost crushingly, and they were kissing, pressing in, stroking, more gently with time, and the elf began to feel a tightness, as part of him became more free to think and wonder if memories would come rising out of the blackness again, if he'd begin to feel trapped by _belonging_ again if he watched Adaar sleep beside him.

But Adaar, it turned out, wasn't ready to sleep any time soon, and found ways to scatter Fenris' worries, and by the time he- they were done the second time, being left awake to watch and overthink wasn't really possible, even for a lyrium-infused elf. They dropped into exhausted sleep together instead, Fenris now having bruises to match the ones he'd left- though more on his chest, shoulders, and throat than back- but no regrets about them, even when he woke.

 

*********

 

Some mild regrets possibly were had by both of them, not about each other, but about not having done much tidying up before collapsing- although Sethras flinging the rumpled top blanket away tiredly to the floor after using it to get the worst off their skins had reduced crusty after effects, they both still would need a thorough clean up.

At least with both of them together in the narrow bed, being used to sleeping outside in all weather, and the heat generated by Sethras in particular, they hadn't needed thick covers despite the chill of the mountain keep- though they had tangled themselves up in remaining sheets somehow, while being asleep or mostly so..

Fenris woke first, surprisingly not from a frantic dream, considering he was quite trapped between his lover and the wall. Though he'd tried to find a way free without waking Adaar, the Tal-Vashoth did wake- tensing, then relaxing with a low chuckle. He rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving Fenris able to also do so- though he gently caught the elf for a kiss. From, the sounds outside, and light coming from the room's narrow window- it was around dawn. _Surely not again_ \- the thought was hazy, and also joined by an actual desire that they _did_ have time- all morning perhaps. But the kiss, while thorough, was also far more calm than any of the previous night's.

“...I haven't woken up after dawn in a long time, I rather expected I would be able to leave while there were still less possible witnesses,” Adaar sounded softly apologetic, but also amused that he'd 'slept in'.

“You are the one to blame for it, you will have to find the way to not be seen if you are concerned with that.” Fenris was also somewhat amused, but there was an unthinking barb in that- though he cursed himself for it as he saw it sting the other man..

“I'm not- except that.. it may make things difficult for you- ”

Fenris had been in Skyhold enough, and long enough, to be familiar with the fact that a favorite subject of idle speculation and gossip was Sethras' private life. And he knew enough from Kirkwall to know that those closest to them- _Varric will absolutely have to comment and I doubt most of the others will be able to resist either-_ would pry. He took a breath- he didn't relish so much scrutiny, but instead of just wanting to become the ghost again, and duck away from it- there was a flare of anger. At wanting someone so _complicated_ to be with. At those who would make it so, at his own reactions- as if all the wolf could do is try to hide and escape.

“You are right... I have heard enough of the whispers, that Pavus and even others merely are grabbing for power, seducing the pure Herald.” At being referred to as 'pure', Sethras snorted, but he looked concerned despite the utter ridiculousness of the word.

Fenris set his mind- if he was going to have regrets this time- let them not be because he _ran and hid_.

“If someone sees you, someone sees you... I- thought of the rumors before. I knew of the complications, that you are seen as Inquisitor and Herald- a Champion. I still chose to say yes.”

He moved to kiss Sethras one more time, and as the sounds outside grew, more of Skyhold waking, they didn't rush, cleaning up at the washbasin and dressing- Adaar did leave first, heading for Leliana's roost above the library- it was past time he was back on the road and at work beyond inspections, paperwork, and meetings- but also, one more detail.

When he stopped by to tell Fenris about a late afternoon meeting to discuss their leaving in the morning on patrol- he slipped something into the elf's hand. A key, fairly complicated, for a dwarven crafted lock, undoubtedly.

“More room in my bed, whenever you might want to take advantage of it- less chance of getting pinned against a wall... accidentally.”

And he'd gone on to track down the next of his companions to tell them about the meeting in person- and likely chat with them as he usually did, leaving Fenris staring at the key with a tightness in his chest and throat, but a twitch of a smile to his lips.


	12. Jealous Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has been getting used to Dorian's presence more and more in the Inquisition, but his relationship with Adaar is still fresh enough and raw enough that gossip, meddling, and circumstances have part of him worried that there could be more than friendship between the Tevinter and the Tal-Vashoth.

 The stink of burning corpses was becoming entirely too familiar as Adaar was leading the Inquisition party through the Exalted plains- helping both sides of the civil war, since there was truce for the upcoming meeting at Haramshiral already. It was partly political, saving soldiers from demons and undead being something that might make some look upon the Inquisition a little more favorably, and partly just because closing rifts, destroying demons and Venatori were just things that the movement, and Adaar personally, _did_.

There was only one real Venatori camp, though it was why Dorian specifically was traveling with them. While Fenris and the Tevinter mage were not on _friendly_ terms, it was at this point a slightly more amicable silence than the elf would ever have felt himself capable of when it came to the son of a Magister. Sometimes the mage did test the waters with an attempt at conversation, and Fenris was slowly having to admit that while Dorian was often cavalier, ignorant, and overly fond of his own wit and looks, he was not _cruel_. Though this did not mean that he invited those conversation attempts to last, or happen at all.

Before coming here, Adaar and a few of the others had gone to deal with some manner of family issue for Dorian- Fenris had stayed at Skyhold, then joined the scouts to make the first camp here, out of a need to do something besides lurk around the keep. He did notice that the Tevinter and Adaar were now somehow friendlier, but it was hardly as if they had been rivals previously- and their conversations had sometimes flirted with flirting the entire time he'd known them as well. He was quite certain there was nothing to feel jealous of- and yet, suddenly, he now and then found himself bristling a little.

_Two nights with him at Skyhold, and hardly any unpleasantness from it- a few more memories, but perhaps because now it has been so many years, and I have had them emerge before, even while alone, it is not so bad. They are painful, but- not to where I would trade losing him to lose them again or gain no more._

Ahead was a fort, where supposedly some of the Grand Duke's troops were trapped- and depending on how difficult it proved to deal with, they would either see if they could stay there, or try to establish another Inquisition camp by the river. _I would just as soon not stay with Orlaisian troops, all things considered. Some of their chevaliers and soldiers have been more trying than the Tevinter- who at least is wise enough to not refer to me as a rabbit even when he doesn't think I am within earshot, and has never been surprised that I fight well 'for an elf'._

_Pah. I am increasingly certain that the ball Adaar must go to after this would test my patience if I were to try and accompany him- which I suspect is why I have not been asked. Varric is grumbling about going, as is Cassandra- Dorian is most likely a candidate for the group, he knows how to handle politics and nobles. And that almost makes me wish to speak up and volunteer- ridiculous. I am acting like a jealous fool. Just because that interfering sister wanted me to get involved with her suspicious gossip-_

The elf was just as glad when on the road ahead, where it went through a pass between boulder-strewn hills, demons appeared- a rift glowing beyond them. More fighting, less time for asinine thoughts.

 

*****

 

It was a minor rift, quickly dealt with, and in fact so easy that Adaar had been able to pay enough attention to little things, like how beautifully Fenris fought, as the warrior cut the last of the monsters in half. After a moment, beside him, Dorian sighed, “Herald, I realize you're not done admiring him, and you have missed him terribly, but perhaps you'd like to actually close the rift? Schedules for grand balls, Venatori to murder, soldiers waiting breathlessly for us to save them, and so forth.”

Adaar muttered something uncomplimentary about Tevinter mages under his breath, and quickly did raise the anchor to begin sealing the rift, while Dorian very likely rolled his eyes theatrically.

Varric, off to the other side, laughed, “So, since he's brought it up- you and Fenris, really? I guess Hawke owes me money next time I see her.”

“What? Was she betting against my interest in him, or his in me, specifically?”

“How long it would take. You realize you're too tall for it to be subtle when you're staring at his ass, right?”

“We should probably demand a percentage, if you've been keeping books about us.”

Fenris, who was within earshot for most of that, scowled, at all three of them, then snorted and shook his head.

“I do not understand the fascination so many have with the personal affairs of others,” he growled, but it sounded almost amused rather than just pure irritation. “Now are we continuing as Dorian suggested?”

Adaar sighed, and started moving, taking the lead again, “Yes, yes, back to the mayhem and bloodshed.”

“First Bull, now you- actually calling me by my name instead of 'the mage' or 'Tevinter'? Am I suddenly being appreciated for all my stellar qualities?” Dorian looked to Fenris with a quirked brow as they fell into place following, “Or is it just some manner of mistake?”

“Both, perhaps.”

“What a singularly infuriating answer. Are you sure you wish to avoid the grand ball? Watching nobles try and deal with you would be rather entertaining. The mental image is something like weasels running head first into a stone wall.”

Adaar snorted, “From the Orlaisian nobles I've had to deal with so far, that is very unfair. Weasels are far more pleasant and less self centered-” he held up a hand, and paused as ahead of them, beyond some ruins, was the sound of a fight, but no sound of demons, just humans. They all drew their weapons and moved in silently, banter forgotten.

Helping a few more of the Grand Duke's men fend off Freemen had not been overly difficult, but getting to the door of the old fortress where more were trapped proved more trying. Bodies from an attempted siege were rotting, stinking, and rising randomly on the bridge thanks to restless spirits, aiding a more powerful revenant.

And then the arcane horror showed itself too.

 


	13. Privacy and Slander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildly explicit sex scene ahoy.

 Fenris extended a hand to Dorian back to his feet without really thinking about it, even as Adaar did the exact same thing beside him- causing the Tevinter to chuckle despite the fact he likely still hurt, regeneration potion or no. Since Fenris happened to be on the side less injured, he grabbed his offered hand, to be hauled up, and Adaar just gave his hand to help him keep his balance until he was less shaky. Another flicker of irritation shot through Fenris, until he remembered the earlier chatter- Dorian _knew_ about the two of them..

Perhaps all the nosiness and ridiculous joking amongst friends and allies was a useful thing to pay attention to after all- _they will know what not to push too far, perhaps-_ though that growling bit of jealousy he caught within himself again was in and of itself frustrating and somewhat frightening.

“Well that was certainly exciting,” the human commented, wiping ichor off his face. He still looked pale, but not really shaken by having been clawed and then flung like a rag doll, almost off the bridge entirely by the arcane horror before it had been destroyed.

“A little,” Adaar agreed, and Varric just shook his head and chuckled. None of them had come through the fight unscathed, though only Dorian had been so severely injured as to actually be removed from the fight entirely, even if just for the last moments of it. The Tal-Vashoth looked to where the gate to the fort had been opened, and they were being watched by soldiers- though not with suspicion, more like with awe. “Let's find out who's in charge here- if they're not too irritating, and have room, we're stopping for the day- It's late enough into the afternoon that I'm not looking forward to running into another possessed wolf pack much less more wandering demons while trying to get to some campsite before dark.”

“And if they _are_ irritating? I _am_ fine, by the way.”

“Oh of course you are, it's fairly noticeable and, you point it out frequently,” Adaar chuckled as Dorian rolled his eyes, “We either go back to the main camp, should be fairly clear, or we get to the next site and help set it up if scouts haven't already made it there to do so- depending on what information if any these soldiers have about the state of things ahead. Your Venatori camp waits til tomorrow either way.”

Fenris' shoulders twitched, and he found himself more beside Adaar than following him- wanting to almost crowd him. He _definitely_ felt like he was being a fool. _That should not have bothered me- it was nothing more than the kind of joke he always has made._

Having found himself _not_ traveling with Adaar, for a little over two weeks between his leaving for Redcliffe and arriving here in the plains- it had seemed aggravatingly drawn out, almost endless. _And then there was the Revered Mother's pestering about Dorian, and the uncalled for nosiness about us- not so bad from those we travel with, but from some woman I have barely met- whatever her intentions truly are, what she succeeded in doing was irritate me and make me suspicious of her as much as I ever have been of Dorian. And I am certain that she would never have bothered me if Adaar had still been at Skyhold._

Fenris managed to shake his reveries partway through the Orlaisian Chevalier's report of what he knew about the truce between the _official_ Orlaisian forces, about the Freemen, the demons, and the state of the plains in general. So far, he seemed less obnoxious than feared, though watching Adaar, Fenris got the idea that the praise the man heaped upon the Grand Duke that he served actually was having the opposite of its desired effect.

_Much like the more Giselle fretted to me about Dorian's duplicity, the more I almost wished to trust him just to be contrary._

However, as the heroes who had killed monsters the soldiers had been very ill-suited to face, some lesser officers quite willingly gave up their rooms in one of the fort's towers- there were six of the rooms, three on either side of a narrow strip of common area- and even though there were only four Inquisition members, all six rooms were politely empty. They _were_ still just eating their own rations, and tending to injuries or equipment with mostly what they carried in their packs, since the fort was short on supplies, but it was better than fighting through more enemies to try and find a safe enough place to camp, or backtracking to the main Inquisition site.

Dorian was the one to bring up the one issue with their rooms, though they'd undoubtedly _all_ noticed the lack of ways out besides the one door, “If someone decided to play politics- this could make quite a cozy prison.”

Adaar chuckled, “I think we can believe that he has no way of communicating quickly with the Grand Duke- and he won't make that sort of call on his own, I don't think. It could lead to terminal embarrassment. Also, currently, his troops might mutiny if he pulled something against the group that's been getting rid of their undead and demon issues. I wouldn't want to stay here more than the one night though, true.”

Fenris' mind was restless still- not helped as such by Adaar already being out of his armor and just in the clothing he wore under it, stained in a few places by blood- but he just quietly tended to his gear while they had the luxury of time- and actual chairs rather than sitting on the ground or camp stools. For all his insistence that he was perfectly fine after the healing draught, Dorian still was the first to head for his room and bed. When Adaar was second to leave, with a glance to the elf, Fenris only hesitated very briefly before rising and silently following him.

If Varric had made any further bets, he kept it to himself.

 

*****

 

Fenris shut the door to the room, relieved by the way actual walls and doors gave at least the sensation of more privacy than an open camp- even if none of them were willing to leave any gear in the common area, just in case. Though now that the door was closed, he wasn't sure if he wanted the privacy to talk, or-

“Didn't have much chance to bring it up last night, but I was surprised you came ahead with the scouts-” Adaar was unlacing his tunic, pulling it off, and at least it seemed whatever blood might have been his, he'd healed up, and Fenris found himself yanking the Tal-Vashoth down into a kiss almost before he had it off completely. Talking _could_ wait.

Sethras made a startled sound, but leaned into it, dropping the shirt to get his hands on Fenris. When the anchor ran over lyrium in the elf's back it made both of them groan, and start to feverishly work at soulhide straps, and at the larger man's belt and pants.

During a pause in kissing, Sethras managed a chuckle, though it was still half moan of need, “I missed you too-”

Fenris snorted, and then laughed as well, though more than a little of him meant it seriously when he growled “ _Prove it._ ”

They both still smelled of sweat, road dust, ashes and battle, having only done the barest cleanup when first shown to their quarters- and Fenris of course smelled strongly of lyrium as they exchanged rough kisses, rougher bites, pulled hair and digging fingers, making the cot-like bed creak.

It was even more narrow than the bed in Fenris' quarters at Skyhold, and in the end, they wound up with what blankets and pillows had been covering it on the floor, no improvement over what they might have had in a tent, other than the knowledge there was thick stone and wood between them and anyone else. It had almost been over _too_ soon, the anchor over the lyrium at the small of his back, and Sethras' eager mouth around his cock felt too good together- but even if he didn't wish to talk, Fenris wanted to _hear_ the mage as much as feel him, so instead of letting himself come to full pleasure in the man's mouth, he'd pulled back and traded places for a time, before moving up to rut against him, and run his lines of lyrium over the mage's body, both enjoying the sensations when brands met the right tattoos or scars-

“ _Fuck- Fenris!_ ” Sethras curled hungrily against him, kissing, fingers digging again at his body, tracing the blue glow, then letting the elf pin him and keep teasing.

Fenris was enjoying how he could reduce Sethras to groans, and breathless, rough obscenities- usually the word ' _fuck'_ , when not something in rough Qunlat- like the man was so overwhelmed his tongue was tied, or he couldn't even think straight. For that matter, Fenris was having a hard time thinking clearly- but he did grab a safe potion vial from the discarded belt near them- slicking himself so he could thrust easily into his lover- for all the size differences, the tall elf's prick was still enough to stretch him well and get deep, making Sethras cry out in pleasure again. The Tal-Vashoth's cock was trapped against Fenris' stomach as he curled and groaned, his tattooed hands on the elf again.

Sethras had already been wild, and Fenris pushed to make him go over the edge, finding his sweet spot, and sliding a marked hand around his throbbing cock, the elf's other branded hand seeking the mark that had made his lover Herald- only after the wetness hit his skin, and the man's ass tightened convulsively around him, and he heard his name did Fenris also loose himself.

The warrior's breath caught, so he didn't immediately cry out himself as he spent himself in Sethras, but once he regained it, slowly, he pulled out, writhing up the man's chest fully so he could kiss and bite at his throat, murmuring his name in a sated near-growl as they tangled together in a more comfortable fashion.

“Fenris- _Kadan_ -” Sethras gave up on talking and cradled him in for a slower kiss than they'd shared already for the night, tired and sated- it didn't last long, and they fell into a doze for a while, Fenris keeping an arm rather possessively around his Adaar.

He woke, with a few fragments of recollection, once or twice, but- still, nothing to make him regret the contact. Had it just been long _enough_ since he fled, since he killed Danarius? Or was it just all the little differences between Adaar and- anyone before? It was really something Fenris didn't particularly wish to spend too much time thinking about, but- the shared hum of lyrium? The fact Adaar had such scars- that he was not human, that he swore like a soldier rather than keep his usually slightly more silver tongue? That he was so enthusiastic about Fenris taking _him_ aggressively, roughly- enjoyed being marked- and felt strong enough himself, even when pressed against the floor or a wall that Fenris didn't have fear that he would harm him, lyrium and all.

Fenris growled at his fretting, and shifted how he still was spooned against the larger man, still not willing to stop holding him. _Does it even matter, really?_

Sethras stirred, “Fenris? Dreams?”

The elf shook his head, “Some- but no, nothing I once expected- which causes me to think I must worry myself as to _why_.”

His lover nodded, and shifted around within the hold to better face him- and nuzzle. Adaar didn't ask for clarification, or even try immediately to reassure him without thought. _He called me Kadan-_ it made his chest tighten but he took a breath, otherwise more relaxed by the quiet.

“I suppose a joke about having to be away from you a while more often would be a bad one to make?”

Fenris snorted and dug fingers into his skin with a flex.

“ _Ouch_ \- won't suggest it then.”

“You are the most aggravating man I have ever had to deal with that I did not actually wish to kill- and you _will_ be leaving me again, I still doubt I should go to Haramshiral,” the idea of being in an opulent palace, being undoubtedly stared at- it was enough to spike his mood further if he dwelt on it- but that was why he was _not_ going.

“I know- and it will be a much shorter trip than Skyhold to Redcliffe, then back to Skyhold, then to here was- I should have skipped the return to the Keep, given more time to deal with things here- as it stands, we will have to return to fully clear out the demons and rifts I suspect.”

Fenris stirred at the mention of Redcliffe- it was _not_ really his business, was it- except, apparently others thought it was- and that in turn was something he should tell Adaar, in case there was more trouble to develop. He scowled, “About that meeting-”

“Not what the letter said it was- and likely.. just as well you were not there. _I_ was tempted to try gutting the man- but I think Dorian would have objected, and there likely would have been political repercussions to the death of a Magister, even if he forgave the interference.” Now it was Adaar sounding like he scowled in the darkness.

“The Magister _himself_ was there?” _If it had been a trap for Sethras- no, he went expecting it to be one. Either for Dorian, or for him set by the Venatori- that much he said before he left. He took others._ It still took a few moments for the sudden ice in his veins to vanish.

“Mm. He very much wants an heir back, but not enough at least to start a diplomatic incident himself. Or maybe he really does realize how- at any rate, we left fairly soon after he started his meeting. And then I had to waste time in Skyhold dealing with some who apparently would have rather it been a trap, so long as the result was a lack of Dorian in the south.”

“..The Mother Giselle tried to discuss your friend several times with me once you had gone. I assume she was one of those?”

Adaar sat up sharply, “What was she after you about?” though from his tone, he had a guess.

“That the Tevinter is gaining undue influence over you.”

“And is seducing me away from you?”

“She did not accuse him of _successfully_ seducing you, or even directly say he was attempting it,” Fenris felt the irritation again, just thinking about it, “She also avoided any real mention of us as lovers, but was _concerned_ that you were a little too quick to take Dorian's side in general, without listening to others.”

“Fenris-” and the irritation in Adaar's voice was sharp, until he shook his head, and continued more quietly, “I am not going to tell Giselle this, because it is not Chantry or her personal business- but I did have Leliana look into his background early on- that is part of why his warning was unfortunately put off. Of course it's limited, but there was nothing that she found to make me reconsider my belief that he did come here, on his own, not part as some scheme, Pavus believes fighting Corypheus and blood magic is the right thing to do, and none of his more personal reasons to avoid Tevinter are sinister either. He sees me as _Herald_ as much as he may see me as a friend, like most others do, and is unlikely to be actually interested in me as more- And I do not have other interests in him, _you_ are the one I am quite happy with as a lover for as long as you will have me.”

Whether Adaar was merely answering every argument, or whether he'd suspected or outright noticed jealousy in Fenris- after a moment of shamed, _embarrassed_ anger, the elf felt- much better. Like some new, treacherous thing had for the moment been safely dealt with in the darkness.

The Tal-Vashoth settled back down, “If she ever brings it up with you again, or starts bringing _us_ up- please let me know. If the talk I already had with her doesn't put a stop to this sort of thing, I am going to have to come up with some mission that she can be convinced to leave Skyhold for. Maybe pay my old merc company to pretend they're interested in hearing more about the Chant of Light from her for a while.”

Fenris snorted, and moved in close again, even convinced he had Sethras' full affections, he wanted to keep an arm around him, “Mmph. See if Varric can get Vael to invite her to Starkhaven. Or I might send him the request myself if she does bother me.”

“I'll keep that in mind, _Kadan_.”


End file.
